Black Friday: Chapters working thirteen hours in cell phone sales, Verizon kiosk in a Circuit City


Have yourself a merry little xmas
Let your heart be light

Paperback Freedom From Fear—Suu Kyi's little xmas I spose—rounds
          its corners in my overcoat
This should be yesterday, at this hour
The line outside the gadget shop
looks like an umbilical cord under orders to burrow into the belly

In my kiosk I prepare at the end of the red plastic road
Dimes spash Romanically, old-school aesthetic tender, joyously
          sprinkling, shimmering
to lazy morning rest, missing Jupiter
But I see one of them's disk out beyond the table's edge


Doors Open—Poet As Servant

I'm having
problems processing them
all beyond fluctuating


I'm going deaf
in my right ear
This part has no
rhythm or other point
OK, I've a
christmas bulb in it


Appeasing the slow,
$18 DVD players
are a
Pyrrhic victory
But, we're winning


The baseball cap is your vote, on your thick, gray head
Your anger issues so efficiently become political
Santa killer
Conceal-and=carry christ-thumper/hanger overseeing the wife's
indulgence of his earnings,
trying to let the wop Sinatra restore him to when he was not so
squeezed and grumpy
Trying, and his head flexes


White bleach flash of emergency light atop
the White Bear Avenue/mall intersection, guiding the coming ambulance,
an apt xmas decoration
Stupid frenzy is the ideal state of Man in the book of my business

Fat old consumers assortedly collapsing by the mouthful in thousands of
          roaring food courts
from the capitals to the fields fall into the shape of the template our
          ravenous lords say their prayers for

"This day for all days, oh!"

Hearts popping in the midst of heroic dodges while jaywalking,
charging from the rainslaps and the urge of the motion of the tumult
Full coverage sedans freely demolishing one another
in rings around the scene of medics coating
the depulsed fallen with their trembling mass and altogether resembling
          a heart at a robbery

Ambulances that breach the respected stoplights are
tux'd waiters at the gala arranged to erupt out of the blue from the
manholes in the road

xmas, if it must,
needs guerrilla tactics, taking to the days of the
forest of months, for the enemy preys on
the dumb meat getting to repeat itself, a mere species
No—I'm not thinking about it carefully enough
Perhaps Jesus's old iamb in the calendar
needs re-rhyming or dactylizing
Maybe we might chase out
Yeah, we'd be a new race

|Maybe we'd alternate the holidays from year to year and attempt beyond the annual, get ourselves some room to rest back|

The bleached emergency light,
tells and leads like a star in the slush rain,
the fools bearing gifts,
teams in steady cellphone contact with the lavish
few behind limp at home, full of specific love, lounging away food poisoning


Disaster—Crowds But We Get Few Sales

My equal-aged boss had his childhood far from mine and all I cared
Now we're working together, I sulk coldly in failure, and stupidly forget
          how scared he could generally be
and how I'm abusing the fact he's my friend
The job he finally found that he wanted was being endangered by this
          moody, moronic brat whom he found was bound from him
Nights of honorable contemplation over my sad self—He searches for a
          Confucian mend
Concluding, I debate him